No Good Deed
by The Pixess
Summary: [Oneshot] Elphaba has second thoughts about a mission. Booksical. More book than sical.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

She had slipped, hopefully unnoticed, through the bustling streets unnoticed into the opera house, the show itself in its final half hour. Knowing which box belonged to her target, she cast a minor spell as her comrades had taught her to keep the door from squeaking and slunk into the high seats, waiting for the signal below to do as ordered.

Till then she crouched in the shadows, restless but knowing she must not call undue attention to herself as she hunched in the darkness. She always, always knew this day would come, had longed for it; her chance to make a real difference in the rebellion against the Wizard's tyrant grip. But still- she was only in her twenties, and though life had hardened her past her years the thought of killing someone sent her blood pounding in her veins.

She had no soul and therefore no conscience, but merely thought as though she were too insignificant for the job. Who was she to decide who lived or died? What was right or was wrong- if there was such a thing?

She pushed such thoughts out of her mind- it was too late to debate that now, and anyway who was she to muse over such things in the first place? So far all she had been in her life was a pawn- for all she knew that was her destiny, to be manipulated by other bastards who had no clue what they were doing but at least they knew what their own convictions were.

Casting around for something to occupy her time until the signal arrived, Elphaba allowed herself to listen to the actual performance- it actually sounded rather decent. The singer on stage could certainly belt, that was for sure (even if nothing else in this life was.) The song she was singing seemed to be a soliloquy of some sort; she was the only one on stage, anyway. Curious as to how that could be tuned into a plot- not to mention what was making the woman's character so clearly upset- she tried to register the lyrics for the first time.

"-_is that all good deeds are when looked at with an ice-cold eye?/If that's all good deeds are/maybe that's the reason why…"_

Only through sheer instinct of self-preservation did she not fall backwards out of surprise; her mind was surely staggered, anyway. The words, the melody, the sheer force behind the song mimicked her Self more than any mirror ever had; it seemed to goad her, trying to make her see something- a sign, finally at last a sign, one she hadn't even know she was looking for till now.

She listened hungrily, longing to find some answer in the notes that echoed hauntingly in her ears, but the song appeared to be at its zenith; the performer really could belt, thrusting out her lament of a lost lover (Elphaba didn't catch his name), vowing never to commit another good deed if that's all they were.

But what _were_ they?

Elphaba fidgeted, unable to control herself. She writhed her hands into a knot, bony fingers twitching every which way. _Why _hadn't she _listened, _she berated herself, all thoughts of her mission fleeing for the moment. What _were_ no good deeds when looked at with an ice-cold eye? A farce? A trap? A calling only meant for those worthy enough, _what?_

It was if someone or something had gone out of its way to show her something and- as usual- she had been too stupid to listen. Now she was stuck, doubt eating at her like a starving Animal in captivity, wondering what had caused Its painful existence. What did this all mean? Was she supposed to spare this life? Abandon her cause? Find some more peaceful way to-

But peace didn't solve anything in these times! Where would she be if all she cared about was _peace?_ Dead out of the womb, that's what- she'd have drowned herself to keep her parents from fighting over what to do with their Lovely Lizard Lass.

A flash of metal, reflected off the raptors of the theater; it was the signal. Shaking, Elphaba slowly pulled the dagger out of her opera cape, fingers quivering so much they could barely get a grip on it. _What if this was wrong?_ She couldn't help but think in a burst of panic_. What if I spite myself again, as I've always done? What if I misread the sign-?_

_There are no such things as signs_! another, fiercer, side of her protested in vehement fury. _You are doing nothing but screwing yourself over, sacrificing your mission over some false dream! Now do the damn deed you were bidden to do by the Cause that you know is right!_

And so she did.

The next morning, Lord Chuffery's obituary appeared in the newspaper. Elphaba managed to scrounge one up out of an alley, the litter left blowing in the street. He was childless, and survived only by his wife. She was quoted by name in the article.

_No good deed goes unpunished._


End file.
